Golden Bullet: A MarySue's Tale
by we'll-fade-away
Summary: Written for Prophe's Mary Sue contest. Alexia Monroe is District 10's tribute, and she wants to put a stop to all of President Snow's ways, the Games, everything. Will she succeed? T for violence and use of a few 'bad' words. And for uber-Mary Sueage.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Hunger Games Trilogy or the Mary Sue; I simply own my Alexia Monroe and any characters I made up. This is for Prophe's Mary Sue contest at _hungergamestrilogy_.com.

**A/N:** Yes, she's supposed to be a Mary Sue. That's the point. Review, flame, doesn't matter, have fun reading it. Hell of a lotta fun to write, I'll tell you that.

. . .

_Golden Bullet_

_Chapter One_

. . .

No matter how humid the air was, Alexia Monroe's lustrous blond waves never grew frizzy. Today she wore it with a half-braid falling down her back, interwoven with strands of dark violet and gold. Her blue eyes were lighter today, having changed because of the mood of the sun. As she walked forward towards the roped-off area for fifteen-year-olds in the Square, Alexia's beautiful, knee-length dress shimmered gold and white. Usually, Alexia wasn't this dressed up—her hair was not often braided, because it had natural beauty, and she didn't need fancy dresses to show off her gorgeous figure—but today was important. Today was the day of the reaping.

"Hey," whispered Kim—or to Alexia, Boyfriend Number Zero-Seven—gripping Alexia's slim shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," she replied brightly, her dazzling eyes staring so intensely at Kim that he felt as if she were staring into his heart, nay, his soul.

Smiling with relief, Kim said, "Good, good. I don't want you to be scared, Al. I know you put in tesserae for your little brother and sister, mother, and the starving children down your street."

Batting her eyelashes, she pecked him on the cheek and said, "That's so kind of you, honey. But I'm fine. I only hope you're all right." Kim nodded and was about to say something, but a friend of his grabbed his arm and began to talk to him in a frightened tone.

Eyes darting from person to person, Alexia caught a glimpse of her brother, Eric, gripping the hand of his twin sister, Lyndi. Their faces reflected the other's: pale, scared. They'd been through one reaping before, but the first-time worry was still there. What reaping wouldn't cause worry?

Except for Alexia, of course. She feared nothing. This reaping filled her with anxiety, yes, but only because she couldn't bear to see anyone from her lovely District Ten be pulled into a manslaughter. There was a loud noise at one side of the square, and she looked up to see the district's mayor tapping at the microphone.

"Hello," said the mayor. "And welcome to the reaping!" There were groans all around, along with whimpers and some applause from those too out of it to care. But Alexia knew that this was wrong. The Capitol forcing kids to fight each other and kill each other the way it did. Alexia knew she had to put a stop to it, but what was she, a perfect girl from District Ten, against the nation of Panem, the terrible place risen from the ashes of North America, run by President Snow? Then the mayor began to speak, telling the tale of how Panem came to be.

Then the district's escort trotted into view, taking the place of the mayor at the microphone. "Welcome to the annual reaping!" Lefia Cricket squeaked. "I love the reaping, don't you all? It's like the prequel to the story that the Games tells!" Alexia took note of how Lefia didn't notice that no one else smiled at the poor attempt at lightness. Nothing could make this day light, although Alexia was not as afraid about it as others were. She continued with, "Let's get this over with, shall we?" and reached into the girls' reaping bowl.

As Lefia read the name, Alexia's breath caught in her throat. "Yolanda Harris," she announced. "Please come to the stage." Alexia knew this girl; she was her neighbor, a weak girl a year older than her who had never had enough to eat, despite the fact that this district was better off than some others—Alexia knew about the wealth of other districts because at night, she would sneak into the mayor's home, using the key she'd blacksmithed herself, and check his files, then take money and deliver it to some of the poorest children—and she couldn't bear to see this girl walk into death.

After Yolanda Harris was introduced, Lefia asked lightly, "Are there any volunteers?"

Without hesitation, Alexia said boldly, "I volunteer in place of Yolanda!" She made her way to the stage, through the hands of all the friends that didn't want her to go, and gave Yolanda a little shove, saying softly, "Go ahead, get off the stage." Then, to the camera crews more than anyone, because everyone in her district knew her and couldn't help adoring her, she proclaimed, "My name is Alexia Digoria Monroe. I'm fifteen years old."

"Wonderful!" gushed Lefia, clapping her hands together. "A volunteer! We haven't had one for so long! At least a decade!" She dusted off her electric-blue dress and said, "Without further ado…our boy tribute!" She pulled a slip of paper from the boys' glass bowl and stated, "Kim Rueger!"

Alexia stared at Boyfriend Zero-Seven as he shuffled forward. How could this have happened? She didn't want to fight to the death with one of her boyfriends. This would be awful. She shut her eyes for a moment, a monumental decision taking place in her mind. Alexia would not fight in these Games.

Soon, the mayor had read the Treaty of Treason, and Alexia shook hands with Kim. He said, "I'll protect you in any way I can, and when it's just you and me left, I'll kill myself," in a hushed voice that only she could hear with, and she would not have caught his words if her hearing hadn't been as super-sensitive as it was.

Then, the Peacekeepers grabbed them from the stage and whisked them away into the Justice Building. Alexia plopped herself down on the velvety sofa and waited for her first guest. After a few minutes, still no one had come. She stood up, slightly annoyed, and opened the door. A flustered Peacekeeper said, "Too many people have come to visit you, and we're trying to calm them down."

Alexia nodded and said, "I can help with that. Let them all in, sir."

"Of course, Miss," he responded quickly. "I'll go alert them that they may." She smiled authoratively and sat down again. Just a minute later, the room was flooded with family, friends, some strangers, and even a few of the cows she tended to at the farms when she wasn't in school, tutoring, taking care of her family, or helping others cope with whatever problems they had.

"Hello, everyone," called Alexia. Eric and Lyndi made their way towards her, their identical brown eyes bright with tears.

"Don't die," Lyndi said. "Please, you have to come back, Lyxi." She used her old nickname for her sister, the name she'd used before she could speak properly.

"Promise you'll live, Alex?" asked Eric plainly, gripping her hand.

"Of course I'll live," she replied easily, hugging them both. "I'll come back, don't you worry." The remainder of the hour was filled with hugs, tears, and reassurances to everyone that came near. Finally, the Peacekeeper came in and ushered everyone out.

"Time to go?" Alexia asked the Peacekeeper. He bobbed his head up and down, and she offered him her hand, which he took and then proceeded to lead her out of the Justice Building to the train to the Capitol.

After the initial shock of everything—going to the Capitol, being a contestant in the Games—Alexia was prepared. She spent as much time as she could with Kim, despite what her mentor, Gerby, told them. She wanted to remain friends with him, stay as close to him as possible. She would not kill him. Right before their chariot ride, dressed in the gleaming cowfur she and Kim wore—on Alexia, cowfur looked like gold, while on Kim, it looked muddy and dull—she told him, "This is only what we make of it; if we try, we will succeed." The crowd loved them, especially Alexia.

Each day during the training sessions, Alexia excelled in each thing she tried. Be it making a fire, swinging a flail, or catching another tribute in a camouflaged net, she could do it and better. At lunch, she sat with the Career Tributes and the table was filled with laughter and joy.

Then came the day that the tributes showed off what they could do to the Gamemakers. Alexia smiled encouragingly at everyone who went ahead of her, and she gave Kim a hug before he was called in. Making small talk with the tributes from 11 and 12, she was able to pass by the time quickly until her turn came. "Good luck!" said the girl from 12. "If I don't get a good score, I'm out of hope, and I know I won't, so I won't win." She seemed to be rushing over her words, but Alexia was used to that—a lot of people had trouble talking to her because they were so entranced in her beauty. "So…so you please, get good score? I want you to win, if, uh, if I don't."

Smiling graciously, Alexia said, "I'll try," and swept out of the room.

The Gamemakers had all been drinking, but as soon as she came in, they set down their bottles and pipes and gave her their complete attention. She flashed them a dazzling white grin, ready to begin. The head Gamemaker said immediately after that, "Alexia Monroe, thank you. You are dismissed." Confused, Alexia curtsied and hurried from the arena.

That night, the District Ten group gathered around the television to see the training scores. Kim received a six, and Alexia kissed him on the nose. "Good job," she said. Then she squealed. "I got an eight!"

"That's no eight," gasped Lefia, her jeweled eyes wide. "That's an infinity sign!"

"Yay!" Alexia said, clapping her hands. "This is great!" After a round of congratulations and amazement from her group, she and Kim walked hand-in-hand to her bedroom. He followed her in and lay down on the bed, patting the spot beside him.

Kim said, his voice low, "Alexia…I'm afraid that I might die, despite what I told you. I mean, I'll try to protect you all I can, but…I don't know…and…I was wondering…." She sat next to him, her blue eyes darkening now that the sun was down outside. He stopped speaking abruptly, pressing his lips to hers. She wrapped her arms around him, and for a while, they just made out. Kim loved how soft Alexia's full, pink lips were against his.

The next day, the interviews took place. Alexia's was filled with ease. She wore a strapless translucent pink dress that didn't even reach her knees and white sandals. Her hair fell around her shoulders, bouncing with each step she took. Caesar Flickerman's bright yellow eyelids fluttered repeatedly when she walked onto the stage. "Hello, Nurse!" he muttered to himself. Louder, he said, "Hello, Alexia!"

"Hi, Caesar, Capitol, Panem," she said, waving slightly and sitting down beside Caesar on the couch. They cheered enthusiastically.

"So, Alexia," he said, "You got an infinity sign as your score—and the scores are supposed to be one through twelve. That is simply amazing!"

"Thank you," replied Alexia, her hand waving in the air as if to push away the compliment. "It was nothing, though, really. Anyone could do it." The crowd whooped and whistled. "But if I may say something?" At these words, the Capitol audience was completely silent as they waited for her to continue. "I think it's wrong, all of this." Her words were quiet. "I volunteered for Yolanda because she's so weak, so poor. And I wanted to be in the Games." There was a collective gasp—no one from Ten often wanted to be in the Games.

"But why?" Caesar demanded gently, putting a hand lightly on her knee. "The Games are wonderful, yes—they can all agree with me, right?—but there haven't been winners from Ten for a long time." He grinned then. "You'll be that first winner, huh?"

"Something like that," Alexia agreed, nodding. As she nodded, her glittering hair tumbled over her shoulders. She gave a soft smile, and its radiance blinded the first row of the audience. "Oh, no!" she cried in realization at what she had done. "My pearly whites are a curse!" Alexia hurried off the stage to the blinded people, and as she walked passed them, there were cries of "I can see again!" After everyone's sight was fixed, Alexia fluidly ran to the stage, her eyes light and carefree.

The buzzer went off, signaling the end of Alexia's three minutes, but the audience was bursting out, "A-lex-i-a! A-lex-i-a!" and Caesar simply couldn't turn down her angelic face as she asked for more time. The next half hour was filled with laughter, tears, and anger, all of which Alexia made the crowd feel—she pulled off every angle: funny, witty, sexy, sullen, brave, wistful, lovable. There wasn't one viewer in Panem who didn't want to sponsor her.

Alexia was able to sleep easily that night. When she awoke, her stylist dressed her in a simple white tank top and blue shorts with knee-high black galoshes. She looked down at them, and although they were constrictive, Alexia would be able to run easily in them.

Her stylist handed her a studded dagger. "Whose is this?" asked Alexia, mystified. The gems glinted, throwing off colorful bits of light in the dark catacomb.

"It was Solovet of Regalia's," informed the stylist. "She was born a fighter, died a fighter, and then it was handed to Gregor the Overlander. It has been passed down for generations to the best fighters. It's yours now."

"I can't bring in a weapon, though!" gasped Alexia, holding a hand to her mouth in shock. "It's against the rules!"

"Nonsense!" her stylist exclaimed. "It's your district token, Alexia."

"It's not from my district! And it's a weapon!" she said, standing her ground. Alexia was stubborn and didn't want to bend the rules.

"Oh, oh," chortled her stylist. "You are allowed. It cleared the review board easily when I told them it was for you, Alexia."

She smiled, "Really? Well, if it's okay with the Gamemakers…it must be all right."

"That's the spirit!" said the stylist. She left the room then hurried back. "Here, eat this," said her stylist, handing her a muffin.

"Thanks," said Alexia. "I'm starved." After eating a lot more, Alexia grinned. "I'm ready for this. I think I can win."

"Good luck," her stylist replied, gently smiling. "You may need it."

"I don't think so," Alexia murmured. "I won't need luck to do what I need to." She twisted her hair back into a ponytail and said louder, "Let the Games begin." Trotting over to a metal plate, Alexia held her head high and straightened her shoulders.

Then she was rising upward, and she could see what kind of arena they were in. Her eyes went wide, and the voice of Claudius Templesmith bellowed, "Let the 75th Hunger Games Begin!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Hunger Games Trilogy or the Mary Sue; I simply own my Alexia Monroe and any characters I made up. This is for Prophe's Mary Sue contest at _hungergamestrilogy_.com.

**A/N:** Yes, she's supposed to be a Mary Sue. That's the point. Review, flame, doesn't matter, have fun reading it. Hell of a lotta fun to write, I'll tell you that.

. . .

_Golden Bullet_

_Chapter Two  
_

. . .

A warm, moist wind fluttered Alexia's flawless ponytail as she whipped her head around, looking intently at the arena. Then she saw it. A tribute who must have been thirteen years old at the most, about to faint. _I can't let her die!_ thought Alexia urgently. _Especially not this way, blown to pieces!_ The girl was so fragile, so thin, her skin so sickly pale…

Alexia didn't think, she just ran. Her dagger banged against her hip as she sprinted to the thirteen-year-old's plate to hold her steady. All of the tributes were gasping in disbelief, and she realized what she had done—or, more specifically, what she hadn't done.

None of the mines had gone off when she stepped off of her plate.

Someone shouted, "The mines aren't working!" and jumped off of his plate in excitement. A girl let out a horrified scream as the mine did erupt, an explosion of smoke and bits of flesh and blood.

Alexia gasped, told the girl she was holding up to be strong, she had to go, and raced into the scene. As she walked into the cover of smoke and ash, she said, "Hello?"

A voice replied, "Alexia, the mines were working…they were working, and now I'm dead…."

"I know," Alexia said. "But I practiced some magic back in District Ten, both black and white. Something of a hobby. That's why I can talk to you now."

"I feel better than I did a second ago," whispered the dead tribute. "I think your presence is healing me."

"Great," Alexia said softly. "You'll be recovered in no time." A minute later, the dead tribute was alive again. His scar-ridden skin morphed into a smooth, light-brown color as Alexia put her hand on his shoulder. "I have to go now. Back to my plate. The Games must have begun by now."

She hurried out and saw that nearly nothing had happened. "Wha—?" she asked, running onto her metal plate. "That was more than a minute, I know it…."

Then she heard it. Claudius Templesmith's slow-motion-distorted voice, calling, "Let the 75th—"

_Oh,_ she thought. _Let him speak normally! Let time be normal, this is too odd._

"—Hunger Games Begin!" His voice normal again. A gong rang out.

Alexia sprinted toward the Cornucopia, which was muddy and wet and gleamed darkly. She saw that there were only two different things in the Cornucopia: ragged-looking clubs with spikes nailed into their split wood and a few wicked-bladed swords. "Stop!" she yelled, throwing her arms behind her, clutching the Cornucopia with her fingers.

Everyone stopped moving and stared at her. "What?" demanded one tribute. "You're not going to let us get weapons?"

"We can't fight each other!" said Alexia. "We can't! It's wrong! We have to stop before we start!"

"You're right!" someone cried. "Alexia Monroe is right! We can't fight! Let's just all sit here and talk and not—" Everybody's eyes were on the talking tribute when a sword tip erupted through his chest. There was a yell of triumph, and a girl ran from the scene, laughing insanely.

Alexia was confused, but only momentarily. "Oh," she said softly, as no one was paying attention to her now. "The blind and deaf tribute couldn't see or hear me, know what we were saying…but why didn't she give in to my wonderful intoxicating smell? Her nose did look quite flat…maybe it's broken or something. Poor dear."

But now, chaos ensued.

Alexia was able to dodge any weapon that came toward her with ease the few times someone's aim failed them—after all, no one here wanted to fight Alexia. There was a stray arrow, plummeting at her, about to skewer her neck, so close Alexia had almost lost hope—

—when she yanked her new dagger from her belt and deflected it with an easy blow. Confusion overruled her flooding relief: How had she managed to pull out her new dagger in time? The arrow had been too close for that to have happened.

Looking around her, Alexia saw so many dead kids. She could save them all, surely, but there wouldn't be enough time! Soon she would have to go into hiding as well, or the insane blind, deaf, and unable-to-smell girl would be back to kill her, too.

With quick feet, Alexia sprinted into the trees, her galoshes sliding in and out of the mud. And then she was enveloped in the thick fog of the swamp, her breathing rapid. "I have to get away," she whispered to herself frantically. The fog settled itself in the air, wrapping around trees and rocks and puddles, surrounding Alexia like a shroud. It even formed a gray halo above her head as if to show the world what an angel she was.

Grasping the hilt of her new dagger at her waist for protection, Alexia began to—with one arm—scale a nearby tree. Maybe if she hid close enough to the Cornucopia, they wouldn't think to look for her here. Of course, she was a fast runner and was already a good deal away from the site.

She got comfortable as possible in the tree's slick branches. But she kept almost slipping, so she pulled out her dagger and began to swiftly carve out a bed-like space in the branches. Then she climbed higher, yanked the leaves off the tree, and shimmied back down to her spot, spreading them like a hay mattress so it was comfortable. After this, Alexia dropped the thirty feet from her branch, flipping twice in the air, and landed on her feet. "Now, to find some grass so I can make a comfortable blanket…" she said.

And because she was Alexia Monroe, find grass she did. It was tall and lush and green, and she was able to weave it into a comfortable blanket. On her way back, Alexia caught an unfortunate duck and added its newly plucked feathers to her leaf mattress. Then she dropped to the ground again, gathered some wood, and readied herself to start a fire.

When along came a little boy, one she remembered to be thirteen. He had cuts and bruises covering his body, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. "You won't be able to make a fire," he told Alexia softly. "The wood's too wet."

"We'll see about that," Alexia smiled. "Why don't you sit down? I have plenty of this." Without waiting for an answer, Alexia tapped two small sticks together and a spark caught her wood easily, soon roaring. She cooked the duck over the fire and gave more than half of it to the boy, who gobbled it down. "Where are you from?" she asked after a while.

"District 12," said the boy. "I'm Stan, by the way."

"District 12?" asked Alexia. "Oh, you poor dear. You never get enough to eat there, do you?"

"No," admitted Stan. "But that's okay. I'm used to it." Alexia's heart just about broke, and she handed him the rest of her duck. He didn't protest, but he gave her a questioning look.

"I can always catch more," Alexia said, her white teeth flashing in the gloomy air. She pricked her ears suddenly, her super sense of hearing picking up on not-so-distant voices. "Get in the tree," she said quickly. "Stan, get up there now! There's a dug out area. Hide beneath the grass blanket!"

Stan said, "I can't climb that! How did _you_?!"

"Easily," replied Alexia. "The branches are just a little wet, it's not a problem. Quick! Go!" With one look into her gray-blue eyes—for the sun was in a gloomy mood—Stan climbed up the tree for all he was worth.

"And then I said, 'Haha, no, but I do ha—shh! I hear someone!" It was the Careers, Alexia was sure. She let her arms to her sides. She didn't want to fight them.

"Hello," Alexia said in her silky voice. "What brings you all here?"

"Hunting," replied the large boy from District Four, a net in his hand. The rest of the Career pack emerged from the fog, and they all answered with the same general "hunting" as their leader had.

"Oh, hunting what?" asked Alexia, already sure of the answer.

"Other tributes," said District Four. "Would you like to join the alliance?"

Alexia grinned at the Careers. "I would, yes, but I can't, not now, at least," she said. "Soon, maybe?"

"Of course," said the boy from District Four. He nodded and motioned for the others to follow him. "We'll be waiting." And he gave her a smile.

Alexia waved, and they hurried off on their own way. Then she called, "Okay, Stan, come on. We have to get away!"

"Where?" was the faint reply. "There isn't anywhere safer than here…."

"I suppose," responded Alexia, beginning to climb up again. Then she was up, sitting next to the young boy, telling him that he would be fine, and that they would both make it through this.

"But how?" asked Stan. "There can only be one victor…."

"Or so you think," Alexia said. "Of course, I may be wrong. But I'm sure we can both get out of this fine." He gave her an apprehensive look, but she waved it away. "We'll be all right, both of us."

Then they settled down to sleep, pulling the soft grass blanket up to their chins. "It's so c-cold!" chattered Stan. Alexia shoved the rest of the blanket towards him.

"You can use it, then, I'm not even cold," she said. Tucking it up around him, she sang him a soft lullaby and he drifted into slumber while she stared up at the sky. It was easy for her eyes to focus through the fog and treetops to the starless sky so that she could see who had died.

Then reality hit her. There were only eleven and a half tributes left—apparently one was still living, their arms, legs, and other various areas of their body missing. Alexia realized it was the boy who had been killed in the explosion; her healing him must have been able to keep him alive through more than she'd thought.

Alexia held her breath as another cannon went off. Who it had been, she didn't know. A pang of terror struck through her. "What if it was Kim?!" she thought frantically. The sky had shown him to be okay, but that could have been one of her loveable boyfriends!

"Stan!" she whispered, shaking him awake.

"Huh?" he asked.

"I have to go find Kim, one of my boyfriends! I have to save him!"

"But…but…I need you here to help me, Xia," he said, giving her an on-the-spot nickname. She smiled gently at it.

"I'll be back soon, I promise. Stay up here." Then she swung downwards and began to run. "Kim!" she called, her voice echoing through the swamp.

Then she let out a cry as she landed in a small pond that had come out of nowhere—literally The Gamemakers must have done that, or maybe it was a freak thing: She wasn't sure. Her mouth filled with mud, and she groaned. There was a low, pained moan nearby, and she splashed forward. "Kim!" she shouted, knowing it was he. "Are you okay?!"

There was another pained sound, and Alexia spotted him lying face-up in the water, most of his body submerged in the murky deep. Alexia hurried up to him and lay a hand on his chest. Then she lifted him up and hoisted Kim over her shoulder and began to hurry back to her tree, skipping lightly over any protruding roots or rocks that lay in her way.

"Stan!" she called, and the boy's head popped over the side of the tree. "I've gotten Kim! Make room up there!" She dragged Kim and herself up the tree, and then she said, "Oh, Stan, there isn't room…I'll make Kim a bed, too!" She lay him down and climbed higher up and began to carve out her boyfriend's new living space. Carefully, she grabbed more leaves, then placed Kim up there and sat next to him.

After a minute, Alexia clambered down the tree and found a medicine bush, something she had invented as a child, an invasive species of plant. It was wonderful that the Gamemakers had put it here in the arena. "Thank you!" she called loudly. Then she plucked it free of its everhealing leaves and got back to Kim.

"Eat these," she ordered him, and after he did, he looked a whole lot better.

"Thanks, Alexia," he murmured.

"Rest up, now," said Alexia.

She swung down to the large bed area she shared with little Stan. "Time to sleep now," she told him. He settled down, and she sat next to him, watching the sky.

Now there were six of them left.

How fast the day had gone by. She hadn't even heard any cannons. Alexia nodded off, and she awoke to a rustling sound. Then there was a strangled cry, a cannon going off. The voice belonged only to Kim—Kim! She struggled out of the blanket and climbed upwards.

There was Stan, holding Alexia's now-bloody dagger and standing over Kim. "Oh, Kim…" she murmured.

"I've killed him with your dagger," said Stan, as if it weren't obvious. "So you can't bring him back."

Alexia let the tears flow from her round eyes, and she asked, "Why, Stan?"

The boy looked down, dropping the knife onto Kim's body. It landed with a near-silent but still sickening thump on his stationary chest.

"Because," said Stan. "I was sent by President Snow to kill you…but I couldn't…"

"Why not?" she demanded. "I—Kim—how—!"

"You're too wonderful," Stan replied. "I couldn't kill you. So I killed Kim. I…"

"Get the hell away from me," whispered Alexia, snagging the knife back from the boy. "I'm—not—mad at—you." Her words were strained. "But I sure—am _pissed_—at President Snow." The president's name came out in a snarl. "Get away!" she shrieked. "Now! I have a job to do, damn it." And she pushed Stan out of the tree.

Alexia dug her dagger into her arm to pull out the tracker that had been implanted there, then wiped it off on her shorts, sticking the weapon afterwards into a belt she had fashioned earlier, and dropped from the tree as well.

Then she watched as a hovercraft's metal claw reached down to take away Kim's pale body. She swiftly climbed back up the tree. And she went with her dead boyfriend into the hovercraft on its way to the Capitol.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Hunger Games Trilogy or the Mary Sue; I simply own my Alexia Monroe and any characters I made up. This is for Prophe's Mary Sue contest at _hungergamestrilogy_.com.

**A/N:** Yes, she's supposed to be a Mary Sue. That's the point. Review, flame, doesn't matter, have fun reading it. Hell of a lotta fun to write, I'll tell you that.

. . .

_Golden Bullet_

_Chapter Three_

. . .

The first thing Alexia Monroe saw in the hovercraft was the bed Kim was set on. He had somehow already been covered in a light sheet, but he was still bleeding. Alexia averted her gaze and began to hurry toward the only door she saw. There was a high voice speaking in urgent tones behind it.

Alexia could not be caught, so she flipped her beautiful hair over her shoulder, shoulder-rolled forward, flipped twice through the air, and slid beneath Kim's bed to hide. Just in time, because the door quietly opened and clacking shoes were proof that the high-voiced person was walking into the room.

From all of the information Alexia had gathered throughout her life, she knew the most important thing was: she was the prettiest, most wonderful person living on this planet. The second most important thing was that the element of surprise.

Combine these two things together and Alexia could save every living being in Panem.

She heard the high-pitched voice again; the person must've been talking into some sort of phone. They said, "Yes, I've got District 10, Male, with me. He was stabbed by '12.'"

Shuddering with rage at what the person was saying, Alexia adjusted her muddy boots into a more comfortable fit. As soon as this hovercraft landed in the Capitol, she would make her move. And surely, it'd land soon.

As if she could predict the future—which, of course, Alexia could; long ago her mother's ancestor's aunt's half-sister's daughter's son's best friend's cousin was a gypsy—Alexia felt the hovercraft landing in a Capitol station. The high-pitched-voiced person had left the room upon landing, and Alexia crawled out from beneath the bed.

She glanced out the window only to see they were in a landing spot, clearly marked. The door was already sliding back open, and she slipped back beneath the bed, pulling herself upward so that she was facing where Kim was lying, dead, above her, clutching the springs and wooden beams with her hands and boot-covered feet.

The bed was wheeled promptly out of the room. It was no effort for Alexia to hold onto the bed even though it seemed like they were rolling away for hours and hours.

Then she dropped, almost exhausted! It was a first for sure.

Luckily, she landed on soft, navy-blue carpeting, her landing obscured by it. She barely even heard the dull thump that accompanied her drop. "Thank you," said a cold, scaly voice. "You may leave now, Nurse, and leave the dead thing to me."

At this, Alexia jumped out from beneath the bed, screaming, "Hah!" Then she realized who she was standing in front of. Her eyes narrowed and flashed; they were dark blue now. The sun itself was angry and horrified at Alexia's predicament.

She vowed to soon have her irises be light blue again as she said, "Hello, Mr. President Snow."

He nodded vaguely and said, "And what, Alexia Monroe, are you doing here?"

Alexia grinned, flashing her white, white teeth at the president. It was time, in fact, to turn on her ever-bearing charm to the highest extent. "I'm surprised you've asked," she said in a silky voice, wearing a soft smile. Her face, although slightly mud streaked from the arena, shone brilliantly out at him.

"Why is that?"

For a reason Alexia could not understand, President Snow was resisting her. He was not blind nor deaf nor smell-less; how was this possible? How in Panem…?

"Because, _Sir_, a great man like you should know already." She put a hand on Kim's bloodless face. She had no desire to know why President Snow had wanted to see Kim; perhaps he saw to all of the dead tributes. How disgusting. Looking him evenly in the eye, Alexia murmured, "To avenge them, Snow. To avenge _all_ of them. All there were, are, and will be."

President Snow did not seem to like this news. He glared at Kim, because it was nearly impossible to glare at Alexia and this dead boy was the only other thing in the room to glare at, really—and replied, "Why do you want to do that?" in a low, hateful voice.

"Because it's wrong. Did you not see in the arena? I'm sure you did even if the viewers did not." She took a step forward, looked Snow in the eye, and added, "We were right in there. I'm putting an end to all of this!"

President Snow was prepared, as he always was. But he was slightly flustered because Alexia herself was such a surprise. She had pulled out her bejeweled dagger, held it out at him, and began to yell words he had never heard before.

The president opened a drawer on his desk, pulled out a golden pistol, and held it out at her. "Put—the dagger—down!" he commanded, but she didn't comply.

"This knife came from many important people before me," she murmured. "And I know it was made for my purpose now. I know it was made to kill you." With a softer voice, she said, "President Snow, don't make me do this. Listen, please, I don't have to kill you…just listen…"

But he had plugged his ears and shut his eyes and appeared to be breathing through his mouth. One hand was now leaving his right ear and creeping toward the trigger on the pistol—

"NO!" cried Alexia, and suddenly as the bullet flew outwards…it stopped.

On closer inspection, Alexia realized, it was only moving slowly, so, so slowly. And she knew that she had the power to control time.

Hurriedly, Alexia moved out of the way and willed time to move normally again. When it did, the golden bullet shot through the door that had been behind Alexia just _seconds_ ago.

"I can stop you," she told him, eyeing him carefully. "I know exactly how, now."

"How?" demanded President Snow, his brow sweating profusely already.

Alexia replied, "By being me!" And she threw the dagger, which President Snow could not block with his pistol as he had wished, because it was so fast and _he_ could not stop time.

It caught him in the neck, and he let out a strangled sound. "How—could my—own daughter—do this—?" he choked, staggering backwards and collapsing to the ground.

"What?" gasped Alexia, rushing to him. "You're my father?"

"Of—course—," Snow said, barely able to breathe now. "Could you ne—ver tell? We—have the same—" At this, he fell silent, then gagged on his own blood, and his eyes rolled back.

"Oh, God, what have I done?!" Alexia yelled, beating her fists to the blood-soaked ground.

She heard the door open, heard the gasp of surprise, then the excited, relieved cheer. She turned to see all of the Avoxes in the doorway, accompanied by Peacekeepers and other Capitol residents.

"You have done us all a great favor," one of the crowd told her. "Now we must gather and have our celebration."

"But…he was your president," said Alexia.

"Was. And we hated him," said the same person. "Don't you see? He had us under mind control. And you, Alexia Monroe, stopped him. Thank you, President Monroe."

"Me, president?" she asked, unable to keep her face unsmiling. The blinding flash took out an Avox, but no one noticed because all eyes were on Alexia.

"Of course. Now, for the coronation!"

She was lifted by the Capitolians, and then taken from the room, where President Snow and Kim lay dead behind them, already a thing of the past. Alexia knew she would make many, many changes. Panem would be a happier place.

Soon she was on live television, all over Panem, after the few remaining tributes had been rescued. Alexia was dressed in her reaping outfit, looking the same she had that very fateful day. Her eyes were light blue again. The sun was happy with her.

"Please, please welcome—" began a head Peacekeeper of the Capitol, "your new leader, President—Alexia—Monroe!"

_The End_


End file.
